Tsunami
by Tyrannosaurus Woyos
Summary: Pepper, and damage control, and those critical hours afterward. Because it doesn't take long to figure out that it if weren't for them, the device on top of Stark Tower wouldn't have have had the power to run.


For my hc_bingo square "hugs". See also archiveofourown for e-reader compatible files.

* * *

The jet lands in Maryland, and Pepper checks her phone. She has one missed call and a text message, both from Tony, and the text reads _Dont mind me, just saving the world again, still alive. Found a new lebanese place, 4.5/5, will bring home a menu._

And it's like nothing happened at all.

Because it's Tony, she knows it's like nothing happened at all _now_, but that's only because water is draining out of the bay and it's all going to come flooding back the moment they think they're all right. She gets one good year, one solid year, enough time to find her feet before ... Before.

The city is on fire and crumbling. An apartment building collapses on the television screen, too damaged yet to hold its own weight. She makes a call, cashes in a handful of favors, and has their publicist get word out that they will be performing the city damage assessment. Another handful of calls, another treasure chest of goodwill, and she has people rallying construction-industry subsidiaries to publicly announce that they will set and maintain reasonable prices for repair and reconstruction services, and fully expect the rest of the industry to follow their lead.

Her reception is terrible with the_ entire world's cellular networks_ all completely overloaded, and Stark Industries dedicated satellites filling in for contractually obligated backup.

She texts back, and hopes the message arrives. _God, Tony._

It's not enough.

A moment later, she sends a follow-up, _That was __**us**__._

Pepper sets her phone on timed silent. She has no new messages the next time she checks it.

She and her people drive into Washington with MSNBC streaming live in the back seat of the SUV, and at one point Happy pulls off the highway and across a stretch of grass to head the wrong way down an almost-deserted frontage road. The 301 is apparently less nightmarish than the 95. (Thinking about traffic means she doesn't need to think about anything else.)

Pepper spends six hours on auto-pilot, talking about building permits. None of their hearts are in it: there's a database of names already, missing and found, and everyone keeps checking their phones. She does everything but deny outright Stark Industries' role in allowing the Battle for Manhattan to happen.

Two senators imply that she's a heartless, lying bitch and the Congresswoman from California looks at her with a raised brow. She follows Pepper out and says, "There's going to be an inquiry, you know."

She smiles, and Pepper waves her people on. "Will you be on that committee, Ma'am?"

"I'll be chairing it, Ms. Potts," the Congresswoman says. "We're still suffering rolling blackouts every summer from the first attempt at energy privatization, you know."

Pepper does. They exchange cards, and she does one better by writing her personal cell number on the back of hers.

All of the New York City airports are non-operational; they land in the Hamptons instead. She wishes she had brought a pair of flats by the time she deplanes. There is a helicopter waiting to take her back to what's left of Stark Tower.

Miracle of miracles, Tony's waiting next to the chopper. He's still shower-damp, hair sticking up everywhere, wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a different band t-shirt than the one she'd left him behind in ... what does not by any right feel like yesterday. She lengthens her stride but doesn't run; Tony waves at her and lounges against one helicopter leg.

She doesn't quite believe how solid he feels in her arms, how completely malleable every one of her limbs and joints have gone. She can feel the arc reactor through her clothes and can't quite freely breathe.

"Hey," she says, into Tony's ear.

He squeezes harder, kisses the corner of her jaw, and draws back just far enough that she can see his entire face and feel the heat from his body even with the rotating blades overhead. Pepper can't tell which one of them is shaking.

"So," he says, then raises his voice so she can actually hear him instead of just reading his lips. "How funny is it that you're like three hours late? I didn't think you had it in you!"

Like nothing happened.

Pepper draws away, smacks him lightly on the shoulder, and does not cry for the joy of what they still have, or the reality of all they've lost.

They have time for that yet.


End file.
